Mornings without coffee are rough, but Buffy isn't taking the chance that today's coffee is drugged. She's embarrassed herself enough for a lifetime. She's hobbling around with a sprained ankle (she should probably stay off it but...) as she grabs her breakfast and a free table. She's fine. Seriously, don't worry about her. After breakfast, she'll head straight to her trouble shooting duty. At work, Buffy is going to request patrol duty so she'll spend a good part of the day walking around the complex with her billy club in hand, ignoring the pain in her ankle because it's totally fine (and if she had her powers back, she'd be healed already).

After lunch, she goes back to patrol, mind still caught in a loop over the things she did yesterday. The drug, whatever it was, had caused her to act on her basest instincts, but they'd been her slayer instincts, not the woman she is, the woman she's fought to be and to hold onto. What had been the point to fighting and becoming that person if a few cups of drugged coffee could take her away? Who is she really if a little drug can turn her into someone that computer says she's not anymore, someone that she's never been? Sure, she didn't stake anyone (and who would she even, because no one is actually a vampire or werewolf or demon), but she'd still acted like a slayer with only the most primitive of instincts.

Buffy could probably use the combat training, but she's far too wrapped up in her own head to do any training. Besides, her ankle is sore. She'll find herself wandering the halls after dinner without any real destination in mind. Eventually, she'll end up at HQ curled up on the sofa, wishing they had any of Molly Ringwald's movies that she could get lost in so she could pretend to be normal for a little while.